


Kisses Tie Our Mouths

by OneHandedBooks



Series: We Are But Dust and Shadows [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Bottom Will, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Hannibal is a one man compounding pharmacy, Hannibal's compassion for Will is inconvenient, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Top Hannibal, better living through chemicals, drug related dub con, love blood and rhetoric, mentions of canibalism, terrible cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHandedBooks/pseuds/OneHandedBooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Hannibal was struck by a rare sense of surprise. He held himself still so that Will could touch him. No matter what else ever happened, he knew he would always remember Will reaching for him like this. He waited to see what Will would do. It seemed he was always waiting to see what Will would do.</em>
</p><p>AU: What if Will joined Hannibal willingly after the Uffizi Gallery and they shared a few tense weeks in the world before Mason's men finally ran them down?</p><p>Prequel to What Do The Dead Know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Kisses tie our mouths  
in a thicket of new veins,  
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever  
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.”  
-City That Does Not Sleep, Garcia Lorca

-1-

After Chiyoh shot him, Hannibal dragged Will back to Sogliato’s flat. He propped Will in a chair and knelt beside him. He yanked Will's jacket off, trapping his arms at his sides so he could examine the injury. Will shook and groaned in pain as he leaned into Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal cupped the back of Will’s neck and held him with hard and absent affection. His mind was already moving forward- making broth, oiling the bone saw, setting a table for three. 

Hannibal injected a powerful mix of midazolam and morphine into Will’s shoulder so he could tend the wound and dress him for dinner. Our long delayed last supper, Hannibal thought. 

He set Will back in the chair and handed him his pocketknife. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will,” he said solemnly. 

Will’s eyes went glassy as the drugs started to take effect and the knife slipped from his bloody hand. Hannibal caught it and leaned closer to watch him fade. 

“Give that a moment,” he said.

Hannibal got to his feet and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. He knew this train had almost reached the end of its track. He told himself he felt only the natural melancholy that came with the end of all things. There would be no regrets and no second chances. He moved towards the kitchen, turning his thoughts resolutely towards dinner, towards parsley and thyme, towards brain in brown butter. Before Hannibal was out of reach, however, he felt Will’s fingers skate weakly over the back of his hand.

“Hannibal?”

Hannibal turned back curiously. “Will?”

Will tried to focus on Hannibal, but his eyes remained dazed. The combination of shock and sedatives had knocked the wear out of Will’s face, rendered him young again, if only for a moment. 

“Please don’t go,” Will said softly. “Everything hurts. Can you?” He paused, struggling to think clearly. “Will you help me?”

“Help you?” Hannibal asked coldly, his mouth set in a thin line.

Will was fading fast, his eyelids drooping as the drugs pulled him down. He slumped against the side of the plush chair. “Will you hold me until I sleep?” he murmured faintly. 

Hannibal started violently at hearing those words again and from Will this time. His face softened as he looked down at Will, eyes tracing over the cuts and bruises on his face, the blood seeping from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Hannibal's lips quirked in a small, almost relieved smile as he began to rethink his plans, to switch this train to another track.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Will was still sleeping, stretched out in Sogliato’s ostentatious, appropriated bed. Hannibal had removed Chiyoh’s fragmented bullet and stitched Will’s damaged shoulder back together. He had changed Will’s bandages and helped him shower, washing him with caring but clinical detachment. He’d fed Will by hand, first the broth originally meant to season his flesh, more for his own amusement than anything else, and then his beloved Silkie chicken soup for strength.

Sometimes Hannibal would read to him or play music. From time to time, Will would toss in his sleep and murmur faintly with a long forgotten Louisiana liquidity. Hannibal enjoyed listening to it, but no matter how hard he listened, he could never make out what Will might be saying. Will’s dreams were closed to him.

On the third day, Hannibal saw that Will was healing well and switched to a lighter mix of painkillers and sedatives. The following night, Will began to come around.

Will rose towards consciousness gradually, swimming though fractured memories- the smell of fresh flowers, the sound of a piano. He remembered Hannibal walking him back and forth to the bathroom in a red haze, the feeling of strong hands supporting him, but little else.

Hannibal was sitting by Will’s bed reading and listening to da Palestrina's Osculetur Me on the phonograph when he heard Will stirring. Will’s eyes flickered open and he struggled to wake. Hannibal leaned over and brushed Will’s curls back from his forehead. Will moaned and shifted, skin flushed, bare legs twining together under the cool, silky, cotton sheets.

“Hello, Will. You’ve been mostly asleep for days. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Will answered, with a slight rasp.

Hannibal lifted Will’s shoulders gently to put another pillow under his head, propping him up. He handed Will a cold glass of water from the nightstand and Will downed it gratefully.

Will cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his face. “Glasses?”

“You didn’t have them with you, I’m afraid.”

“What…What happened? Where are we?”

“We are still in Florence, Will. Somewhere no one will look for us, I think. For a time. You found me at the Uffizi. Do you remember? We left together. Then you pulled out your little knife and lovely Chiyoh shot you for it. I brought you back here, stitched you up. We’re quite safe for the moment, but we should move quickly once you are able.”

Will glanced at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. “We?”

Hannibal paused, letting the silence spin out, then shrugged. It was a minute gesture, but it contained his entire willingness to let the chips fall as they would. “Yes,” he said. “If you like.” Hannibal watched Will consider this. Will you stay or will you go, Hannibal wondered. _Would I_ let you go?

Will blinked, trying to focus on Hannibal’s unbearably placid features. Did Hannibal still want him to run away with him, after everything? He wanted to say something to this, but his mind kept slipping away. He felt terribly hot and restless under all the sheets and blankets. His skin was oversensitive, almost feverish. Everything in his periphery was shimmering like a mirage. 

“Hannibal,” Will said plaintively, reaching out for him.

Hannibal moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes, Will?”

Will reached up with his left hand and stroked it over Hannibal’s jaw, feeling the rough silver stubble under his fingers. Hannibal was struck by a rare sense of surprise. He held himself still so that Will could touch him. No matter what else ever happened, he knew he would always remember Will reaching for him like this. He waited to see what Will would do. It seemed he was always waiting to see what Will would do.

Will brushed his fingers over Hannibal’s mouth. “Please,” he said with a soft Southern slur, eyes fluttering closed again.  “I feel so strange. Like prickly heat.” Will’s hand dropped back to his side heavily and he twisted in the bed. “Will you touch me?” he murmured.

Hannibal deliberated. He wanted to know Will in any way he would allow. Of course he wanted this, but not _like_ this. 

“Not yet,” Hannibal said finally, shaking his head and running his fingertips over Will’s cheek gently. “Not like this.”

Will grabbed the crisp, pressed sleeve of Hannibal’s shirt in his fingers, pulling him closer. “Yes. Like this. Exactly like this. I feel like I'm burning up. Feel how hot I am, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s brow wrinkled with mild concern. He cupped Will’s cheek and then pressed his palm to Will’s bare chest over his heart. He cocked his head, listening. Will's skin was bedwarm, but there was no fever, no racing heartbeat. There was no infection that he could see in the shoulder wound either. Rather, Will seemed to be experiencing an unusual reaction to the new medicine, compounded to provide him with greater pain relief and less sedation as he healed.

Will pulled Hannibal’s sleeve again, drawing his attention back from considerations of chemistry and anatomy. “I feel like I'm floating.” Will chuckled. “Come with me.”

“I'd rather you were tethered to reality,” Hannibal said dryly.

Will laughed deliriously and lifted his arms to offer Hannibal his wrists. He grimaced at the sharp stab of pain in his stitched shoulder. “Tether me then,” he said.

Hannibal gazed at Will, fascinated, and licked his lips. Then he said, “I can't, Will. Another time, perhaps.”

“You can,” Will retorted. “You can use one of your ties.” He laughed again. “One of those crazy ties you have.”

“That's not what I meant and I think you know that.”

Will grinned and threw his head back, sliding his bare limbs together under the deliciously soft sheets. “I know. I know everything now. You're a monster and so am I.” Will alternated between laughing and moaning at the feel of the fabric slipping over his skin. "You'd eat me up you love me so.”

Will’s eyes opened in surprise at himself. The sudden, shocking weight of that statement knocked the desperate laughter right out of him. In the unrelenting silence that followed, they could hear the minute tick of Hannibal's watch, their own harsh breathing. Somewhere, the sound of water.

Hannibal responded softly, “You have no idea what you're saying, Will.”

Will struggled towards lucidity. “I do, you know. I do. I see you, Hannibal.” With his good arm, Will reached out to stroke his fingertips over the black and branching antlers only he could see. “Forgive me, Hannibal. I can see you now,” he said. Will's arm fell back on the bed again, too heavy to lift.

Hannibal leaned over and put one hand on either side of Will’s arms, caging him. He bent down cautiously and brushed his mouth over Will’s. Will parted his lips slightly. He could feel Hannibal’s breath on his skin, the warm and implacable weight of him on the bed. Hannibal pressed his lips to Will’s more firmly, opened Will’s mouth with his tongue. Will groaned and kissed Hannibal back viciously. He reached for more, fingers clawed and starving, then winced at the pull in his shoulder.

Hannibal pulled back with a little smile and cupped Will’s cheek. “Easy, Will. Easy.”

Will relaxed back against the pillows with a dreamy, drunken list. “As you say... Dr. Lecter. Just. Don’t stop.”

Hannibal indulged himself, resting his fingers on Will’s cheek and running the pad of his thumb over Will’s lower lip. Will’s tongue darted out and touched it. He met Hannibal’s gaze directly and tried to catch Hannibal’s thumb in his teeth. Hannibal felt again that mix of uneasy surprise and unexpected pleasure.

“Greedy,” Hannibal said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in quiet glee.

He ran the back of his hand over Will’s face and down the side of his neck. Will arched into his touch, tipped his head back, and bared his throat. Hannibal could not help but close his hand around it gently, just for a moment. He could feel Will's heartbeat thrumming under his palm, the delicate bones of his windpipe, the fragile spine under his fingers.

How easy it would be, Hannibal thought, squeezing a little tighter, and how simple everything would become.

Will moaned under Hannibal’s hand and shifted fretfully. His eyes were closed. His hands flat on the bed, trusting. Unimaginably trusting.

“Harder,” Will murmured, as if in his sleep.

Hannibal startled and let go before his impulsive hands could give Will what he'd asked for. Would Will ever cease to amaze him, Hannibal wondered, or would he draw him in forever with his heady offers of softness and steel?

Hannibal leaned across the bed to kiss Will again. He rested his weight lightly on him, mindful of their injuries, but Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s broad back and tried to pull him down further.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered against his mouth. “You won’t break me. You can’t.”

Hannibal slowly moved his body on top of Will’s slight frame, still covered by the smooth cotton sheets, until Will was pinned beneath him. Hannibal’s chest pressed against Will’s, one thigh thrown over Will’s legs. Will moaned at the feeling of Hannibal’s weight on him and dug his fingers into Hannibal’s back though his shirt.

“How do you feel, Will?” Hannibal asked.

“Safe,” Will sighed. “Grounded.”

Hannibal smiled tightly in response and leaned in again. He licked into Will’s mouth, nipped at his bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Will welcomed Hannibal eagerly, dissolving in a wash of sensation. For a long time, his mind was blissfully empty of everything but the wet press of Hannibal’s mouth, the slide of their tongues, and the clash of teeth. Hannibal lost himself in Will’s answering kiss and the feel of Will’s sail-roughened hands running through his silky hair.

Finally Hannibal sat up to look at him. He stroked his hand over Will’s flushed face, trailing his fingers through his damp curls, brushing his thumb lightly along the crescent bruise under his eye, across the shallow cuts and scrapes Chiyoh had left on him. “Lovely,” he breathed. “Beautiful Will.”

Will shook his head, but gave Hannibal one of those rare unguarded smiles that always pierced him like an arrow. Will smoothed his hand over Hannibal’s shoulders and down the front of his white shirt. He started to unbutton it.

“Take this off,” he said.

Hannibal knelt up and shrugged out of his shirt, content to do as Will asked.  The French cuffs caught on his wrists as he pulled the shirt off and Will had a quick shivery vision of Hannibal bound this way, starched button-down yanked open and stretched over the back of a sturdy kitchen chair. He saw himself drinking some pretentious wine straight from the bottle and watching Hannibal struggle hopelessly. Tormenting Hannibal in a hundred sweet and spiky ways.

Hannibal cocked one eyebrow at him with suspicious amusement. “And now?” he asked. “What are you thinking now?”  
  
Will didn’t answer. He just traced his fingers over Hannibal’s muscular shoulders, down his throat, over his collarbone.

“And this,” Will said, stopping at the neck of Hannibal’s undershirt. “Take it off.”

Hannibal pulled the white t-shirt off over his head and Will watched his stomach muscles flex and relax as he did. Hannibal set the shirt aside and turned his attention back to Will, waiting. Content to let Will direct him for the moment.

Will swept his fingers across Hannibal’s bare chest and through the soft greying hair, wondering at the solid feel of Hannibal’s body under his hand. Hannibal felt familiar but unfamiliar. It was like touching his own body, but not. He could feel Hannibal's desire radiating from him.

Will traced the trail of soft hair over Hannibal's belly, down to the top of Hannibal’s trousers, and curled his fingers into the waistband. He dropped his hands to the leather belt and started to undo it. It was unexpectedly awkward to remove a belt from this angle and his fingers were clumsy. Hannibal’s mouth quirked up and he held his breath as Will worked the buckle open, pulled the zipper down, and then pushed his trousers off over his hips.  Will looked up at him and cupped his hand boldly over the front of Hannibal’s black cotton shorts. Hannibal moaned and closed his eyes.

Familiar/unfamiliar, Will thought again. Will squeezed Hannibal firmly though the fabric, then let go.

“Take these off too,” he said shakily. “I want to see you.”

Hannibal stood beside the bed and stripped out of his pants. He folded them over the arm of the chair. Then he dropped his shorts and added them to the pile. Will looked him over openly and Hannibal felt an intense, but fleeting urge to cover himself with his hands.

Will had only ever mentioned a desire for Alana and Hannibal wondered with unwelcome anxiety if Will liked what he saw or if he would put a stop to this now. It was one thing to kiss, Hannibal mused, to touch. Just to touch. But, it was another thing to want a franker intimacy. Hannibal waited to see what Will would do. He was always waiting to see what Will would do.

Will was moved to utter stillness by what he saw flickering over Hannibal’s face, behind the mask. Seeing this arrogant peacock anxious about _anything_ was always…what? Touching? Frightening? Satisfying? No one deserved it more, Will knew, but it was so miserably hard to hate him.

Will stretched his arm off the edge of the bed and rested it gently on Hannibal’s slightly soft hip. It seemed that the decadence of Florence agreed with him. He wanted to see everything, but more than that, he wanted to enjoy Hannibal's discomfort. “Turn,” Will demanded.

Hannibal shivered and turned around slowly, feeling the rich rug under his bare feet, a flush of heat spreading over his chest. Will’s calloused fingertips dragged over Hannibal’s skin as he moved, rasping over his hip, across the small of his back, and down over the firm curve of his ass. 

Hannibal paused, feeling Will's eyes on him cross-referencing the yellowing bruises on his back and thighs, the deep, slowly healing, gash in his calf. "Uncle Jack," Hannibal said, confirming Will's unspoken conclusion. 

"Uncle Jack wrestling with the Devil," Will said.

Hannibal snorted. "He is a bear of a man." He licked his lips then admitted, "I was lucky to escape with my life." 

"Not lucky," Will said from behind him, still stroking his fingers idly over Hannibal's body. "He was saving you for me." 

Will searched out the worst of the bruises and pressed his fingers into one on the back of Hannibal's right thigh until Hannibal gasped through gritted teeth. Then Will gave him a little shove on the hip to get him moving again. He hummed with pleasure at Hannibal's strange grace.

When Hannibal faced him once more, Will looked him over deliberately, with the barest smile. He traced a finger along Hannibal’s erection curiously then wrapped his hand around it. He stroked Hannibal’s thick cock once, pushed the foreskin back, and swiped his thumb over the wet tip. He slid his hand down and cupped Hannibal’s balls gently. Familiar/unfamiliar, he thought again. 

Hannibal sighed, holding himself still, letting Will explore his body. He resisted the urge to put his hands over his face to shield himself from Will’s unusually direct regard. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly, blocking out everything but the feeling of Will’s hand on him.

Finally Will looked up from his assessment. He waited until Hannibal could meet his eyes. “I think you’re beautiful, Hannibal,” Will said plainly. He wet his lips and settled back into the pillows. “Come to bed?”


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal knelt astride Will on the bed, his knees on either side of Will’s hips, trapping him under the silky, dark blue sheets still stretched across his body. He cupped Will’s face in his hands and pressed his lips gently to Will's forehead, to each cheek in turn, to the pulse point pounding in his throat. Hannibal sat back on his heels, resting his weight on Will’s thighs and spread his hands on Will’s chest. Waiting.

Will could feel the warmth of Hannibal’s body even though the sheets. He wanted to lift his hips, to press Hannibal’s hard cock against his own, but he hesitated. He slid his hands up and down Hannibal’s bare legs instead, caressing his warm skin, running his fingers over the long, defined muscles. Will he like the things I like? he wondered.

Will reached up and lightly rubbed his thumbs over Hannibal’s nipples, back and forth, until they were stiff and Hannibal was panting. He watched Hannibal closely as he pinched his nipples between his fingers.

Hannibal closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He shook under Will’s hands, pain spiking and fading as Will pulled and twisted his sensitive flesh, heat radiating from his chest to his cock, which pulsed in time with his racing heart.

Will closed his fingers tighter, tighter, watching Hannibal arch trembling into his hands. Hannibal’s civilized veneer cracked as Will hurt him and Will could see his cellophane heart beating beneath. Hannibal can be broken, Will thought. And this is how it can be done. In pain and sweetness. Hannibal will be his Prometheus. He can be taken apart endlessly to Will’s satisfaction and then restored, only to be broken open again the following night.

Hannibal watched as Will’s dreams of delicate vengeance turned his blue eyes to flint and twisted his mouth into a poison smile. Delighted, he drank deeply of Will’s cruelty and his dangerous curiosity. He realized then that Will would always fight and spit and claw, but if they could share this, this dark glamour, then their teeth would always stop short of closing in each other’s throats and he would be able to direct Will’s righteous violence outwards into the world.

Hannibal gave himself over to Will’s torturous touch, to thoughts of a future in which Will was healed and deadly. He called up the memory of the vintage hunting knife with the razor thin edge and the fine black leather gloves he and Abigail had picked out for Will this time last year, as a going away present. He was curious if the forensics team had found them, wrapped in rich gold paper and stuffed in the bottom of a Goyard satchel in his closet, and what Uncle Jack had made of them, if he’d paid them any mind at all. He wondered how soon he might be able to replace them and whether Will would accept them if he did.

Hannibal returned to the present and pulled Will’s cruel hands away from his chest. He brought them to his mouth and kissed them reverently. He slid back along Will’s body and took the edge of the sheet in his hands, pulling it down slowly, exposing Will’s body in increments. Will squirmed under Hannibal’s unrelenting gaze and the slithery feel of the fabric sliding off his flushed skin.

“Beautiful Will,” Hannibal said again as he revealed Will’s lean chest and taut belly. His pale skin stood out like burnished ivory against the dark blue ground sheet. Hannibal’s eyes followed the sharp lines of Will’s ribs. With a terrible look of greedy pleasure, he drew the tip of one finger back and forth along the scar he’d left on Will’s stomach. His mark. His Will. He placed his palm flat over it and felt Will inhale sharply.

Hannibal took in Will’s narrowed eyes and the sudden hurt line of his mouth. He trailed his fingers down over the jut of his hipbone as if nothing had happened. “You haven’t been eating enough, caro,” Hannibal said, deliberately casual. He bent forward to kiss the smooth skin of Will’s throat.

“There was no one to cook for me, Hannibal,” Will whispered in reproach, “and no one left to care if I ate.”

Hannibal flinched as if Will had slapped him. He wrapped one hand around Will’s slender hip and squeezed hard in retaliation, digging his fingers into the muscle. “I’ll fatten you up again,” he said with a smug little smile. “When we’re away from here and settled.”

Fatten me for slaughter? Will thought helplessly, abruptly flooded with dark miserable regret. “Will you be sorry to leave all your fine things again?” he asked, gesturing bitterly at the opulent room.

“These aren’t my things,” Hannibal said, ducking Will’s sudden fury. “And, no, I won’t be sorry. I’m not leaving anything of value behind this time.”

Hannibal bent his head and opened his mouth over one of Will’s nipples, licking and sucking. Will felt Hannibal’s uneven teeth scrape his skin and then bite down hard. Will arched up against the pain, his misery subsumed in hot wave of need. He moved to wrap his arms around Hannibal, to pull him down on top of him, but Hannibal shoved him flat.

“Lay back, Will. Let me taste you.”

Will shuddered at that, but did as Hannibal bid him. Hannibal slid the full length of his firm body against Will’s, kissing his chest, his belly, the hard angles of his hips. He filled his senses with the spicy smell of Will’s sweat, the feel of his skin suffused with heat, the rapid beating of his heart.

Hannibal moved lower, pulling the rest of the sheets off and pushing Will’s legs apart slightly. He admired Will’s lovely thick cock, flushed dark and heavy. Beautiful Will, he thought to himself. He ran the back of his fingers over it tenderly. Will jumped at his touch and covered his mouth with his hands to stifle the needy sounds Hannibal drew from him.

Hannibal grinned, pleased that Will seemed to be fully present with him again. He moved down the bed until his feet reached the edge then spread Will’s legs wide and braced them open with his broad shoulders. He nosed along the crease at the top of Will's thigh and breathed him in, rubbed his stubbled cheek against the inside of each thigh, chafing his skin delicately. He took Will’s hips in his hands and held him down so he could mark his inner thighs with sharp biting kisses. Will moaned and struggled delightfully in Hannibal’s grip as Hannibal decorated his flesh with tiny belladonna bruises.

When he was satisfied with his creative efforts, and satisfied that he’d made Will wait long enough, Hannibal looked up at him from under his light eyelashes and flicked his clever tongue very deliberately over the head of Will’s cock. Will made a small, almost wounded sound and arched his back. Hannibal pinned his hips firmly against the bed and licked him lightly again, just to feel Will squirm, just to savor the whimpering sounds he made. He licked long, slow stripes up the shaft and circled his tongue around the head of Will’s cock again and again, simply for his own enjoyment.

Will bit his lip. Pleasure stuttered through him as Hannibal’s tongue traced randomly over his throbbing flesh. He writhed and bucked in Hannibal’s grasp, twisting his fingers in the sheets at his side. He arched his back again trying to get more of Hannibal’s hot mouth on him. Amused, Hannibal ignored his silent pleading.

“Hannibal, please.” Will cried finally. “Stop teasing and just…”

Hannibal smiled and brushed his mouth softly over the tip of Will’s cock. “Just?” he whispered against Will’s stiff flesh. “Just what, Will?”

“Just, please. Would you…?” He stopped.

“Would I…?” Hannibal prompted. “Would I what?”

Will threw his arm over his eyes, cheeks flushed. His throat was tight with lust and embarrassment and he found himself completely unable to ask Hannibal for what he wanted.

“Would I _just_ suck you?” Hannibal asked for him. The corners of his mouth turned up in a little smirk. Will had rarely looked more enticing than he did right now, struggling to give voice to what he needed. “Is that what you mean to say, Will? Would I _just_ take your cock in my mouth?”

Will shivered. “Please?”

Hannibal shook his head in amusement and went back to licking Will’s cock here and there as he pleased, tasting him, stroking his fingers lightly up and down the shaft. “Ask then,” he said. “Ask for it, Will and I’ll give it to you gladly. Ask me to suck your cock, if that’s what you like.”

Will paused for a long moment with his eyes closed. He reached down and ran the back of his hand over Hannibal’s cheek then murmured boldly, “Suck my cock, Hannibal. Please?”

Hannibal considered denying him anyway, making him beg, just for fun, but decided against it. Instead, he guided Will’s cock into his mouth, wrapped his arms around Will’s thighs, and sucked deep and sudden.

“Oh my god,” Will moaned, tilting his head back. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched him this way. He shook in Hannibal’s arms as Hannibal devoured him, worshiped him. Will restrained himself as long as he could and then he thrust up into Hannibal’s mouth, pushing deeper until he felt Hannibal choke and then swallow around him. Will pressed one hand over his mouth to muffle his desperate moaning.

Hannibal reached up blindly and grasped Will’s other hand, moving it to the back of his head. He sighed in delight as Will fisted his hand in his silky hair and pulled. It was wonderful, to be consumed this way, to think of nothing but Will filling his mouth, to hold Will’s fury, and his beauty, and his hate in his hands.

Not for the first time since Will had woken up begging for his touch, Hannibal wondered if this was real. Maybe Will had forgiven him after all and he was actually bleeding out on the cobblestones outside the Uffizi, perhaps as he looked into Will’s cold blue eyes, or perhaps as he watched Will’s back as he walked away and his own blood pooled around him. Hannibal found that he was not disturbed by this possibility. If this was only a last hallucination in the space between life and the death Will had designed for him, it would be enough.

Will flexed his hips again and again and Hannibal allowed himself to become lost in the taste of Will’s bitter salt, the throb of Will’s hard flesh under his tongue. He relished the faint pain of Will pulling his hair, the feeling of Will using his mouth with guilty abandon. Will’s thighs began to shake and Hannibal worked harder, trying to push him through the waning delirium of the remaining sedative and over the edge.

Before he could come, Will gasped out, “Wait,” and pulled at Hannibal’s hair, trying to stop him. “Oh god, wait. Not like this. I want…”

Will stopped, reaching for the words. He looked down at Hannibal as Hannibal gazed up at him with terrifying devotion. Will’s whole body was quaking. He traced one finger oh so gently over Hannibal’s mouth where it stretched obscenely around his swollen cock.

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut as a wave of heat washed over him. He worked his tongue over Will’s length, sighing around him as he waited for Will to continue speaking.

Will arched his back with a pleasure so keen it was almost painful. There was a soft darkness behind his eyes, swirling around him like a river of ink. He felt it pulling him under. He briefly considered just letting go, letting Hannibal make him come and usher him into a dreamless healing sleep. Hannibal said they would have more time, that they could do this again. But what if there was no again, Will thought. There so often was not with Hannibal. If this was their only chance, then he wanted everything.

Will tugged Hannibal’s hair again. “Hannibal. Stop a second.”

Hannibal pulled back from Will’s cock with real regret, licking his flushed lips. “Do you want something else, Will?”

“I want…” Will screwed his eyes up tight. He felt Hannibal’s hot breath on his cock, Hannibal’s rough cheek between his legs, soft kisses on his thighs, one for each aching little bruise.

Hannibal wrapped his hand around Will’s shaft, stroking lightly, keeping him hard as he waited for him to admit what he wanted. Waiting to see what Will would do.

“I don’t want to come in your m-mouth,” Will stuttered finally, cheeks painted pink. “I want to feel… I want to come with you inside me.”

Despite his immediate, nearly overwhelming desire to acquiesce to this request, Hannibal started to say no; that Will was not well enough yet, that he was not ready, that they would have time. But, of course, there were no guarantees of more time where Will was concerned and there never had been.

Will watched as Hannibal crawled back up the bed like a big cat, muscles shifting. He brushed his hand through Hannibal’s silvered hair and cupped his cheek. He ran the pad of his thumb back and forth over Hannibal's treacherous mouth. I crossed oceans to find you, you unimaginable bastard, Will thought.

Hannibal stretched out on his side, pressed hotly against Will from shoulder to toes. He leaned his head on one hand, looking down at Will covetously, and slipped his free hand along the rough silk of his skin. The low golden lamplight outlined Will’s pale body like a statue. Mine, Hannibal thought.

Will shifted to keep his body in contact with Hannibal’s. He skimmed one hand over Hannibal’s chest and down between his legs, found Hannibal's cock hard and weeping. He slid one finger through the fluid inquisitively, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, caressing Hannibal’s stiff dick, bringing the foreskin up and back over the wet tip again and again. Familiar/unfamiliar, Will thought.

Hannibal shivered under Will’s ministrations and dropped his head to Will’s shoulder. “That’s so good,” he said, panting.

Will could feel the echo of Hannibal's desire running through his own body and he smiled, pleased with himself. He kissed Hannibal everywhere he could reach and closed his hand tighter around Hannibal’s cock, stroking him harder. Hannibal caressed Will lightly in turn, holding him on the edge. Will sighed, arching his back, lifting his hips. A pink flush spreading down his neck and over his chest.

“So responsive,” Hannibal said breathlessly, reveling in Will’s long hidden sensuality.

Will opened his eyes and looked at Hannibal with a dazed mix of yearning and apprehension. He drew his knees up and spread his legs slightly in invitation. He could feel Hannibal’s dangerous hunger as though it were his own. You are the lion in the room, Will thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal sighed with longing and trailed his free hand down over Will’s body and between his legs. He brushed the tips of his fingers over Will’s ass, caressing softly.

Will tilted his hips down against Hannibal’s fingers then moved back uncertainly. Will I like what he likes, he wondered.

Hannibal sat up and searched the nightstand for the small bottle of fine olive oil he’d been rubbing into Will’s chapped hands over the last few days. He coated his fingers then reached back between Will’s thighs. He circled one finger gently against Will’s opening, pressing in slightly then stopping. Again, a little harder this time. He waited until Will’s stomach muscles stopped jumping and his thighs relaxed.

“Yes?” Hannibal asked him.

“Yes,” Will nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Please.”

Hannibal pushed against him steadily, but even with the slick, Will's body was tight. Will turned his face to Hannibal's shoulder and grimaced as Hannibal pushed more firmly against his resistance. His legs closed instinctively, fingers digging into Hannibal's bicep. Hannibal withdrew entirely then, laying his warm palm soothingly on Will’s tensed belly.

“Another time,” Hannibal said, finding Will's lips with his own. “We don't have to do this right now. Another time, Will. Please.”

Hannibal ran his hand up Will's cock, curling his fingers around it and stroking quickly, purposefully. “Let me give you this and then you can sleep again,” Hannibal said. He leaned closer to kiss Will’s neck, behind his ear, breathed in his warm spice. “After you're better, we can talk about this. We'll have time, caro.”

“Can you promise?”

 Hannibal was silent, eyes lowered. It was clear that he _so wanted_ to say yes and equally clear that he would not. Will felt a monstrous sort of love rising in his chest, squeezing his heart, making it hard to breathe. He looked at Hannibal for a long moment.

“Then do it now,” he insisted finally, dragging Hannibal's hand back between his trembling legs.

Hannibal shook his head, but knelt up between Will's thighs anyway. He held them open with his knees. “I don't want to hurt you, Will.” 

Will blinked rapidly in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed and laughed at this as he once did after being compared to Uncle Jack’s fine china. He was still giggling under his breath when Hannibal lifted his eyebrow and clarified, “I don't want to hurt you like this.”

“What if I want you to hurt me like this?” Will asked softly. 

Hannibal frowned. “Using me to punish yourself for the things you want, caro? Preferisco non.” Hannibal leaned down, brushing his nose along Will's hairline, inhaling the unexpectedly comforting smell of him. “When I have time to make you ache for me and you cannot help but yield,” Hannibal whispered, “then I’ll take you like this.”                                                               

Will shook his head. “It has to be now,” he said simply. “I need it.” He felt unmoored without Hannibal’s weight on him, alongside him. He offered his wrists as he had at the very beginning of this morphine dream, crossed them and put them over his head. “Tether me to the world,” he said.

Hannibal warred with himself, but not for long. In the end, he will always take what he wants and he will always give Will whatever Will can bear to ask for.

Hannibal grabbed his flowered silk tie from the bedside chair where he’d draped it earlier that night and looped it around Will's wrists as he had asked. He knotted it lightly so as not to strain Will’s shoulder and caressed his face gently when it was done.

Will shivered with phantom fever, the edges of his mouth pulling down in sorrow. Images flickered though his mind unbidden of every time Hannibal had touched him with that same sickening tenderness. You could have killed me any time in the last four days, Will thought involuntarily. A pillow over the face while I slept. Easy as anything. Why didn’t you? God, why didn’t you end this? Why can’t I end this? Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he pulled on the knot around his wrists. 

“Tighter,” he demanded.

Hannibal looked down at him, unsettled but intrigued by Will’s shifting affect. Unpredictable Will. Capricious as the sea.

“No, Will,” he said firmly. “No. When you are well, if you still want, I will tie you as tight as you wish so you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.” His eyes glanced over Will’s shoulder. “For now, you will show some restraint, at the very least so you don’t re-open my stitches.”

Will arched up defiantly, pulling against the silk tie and the darkhatched thread holding his flesh together. “If I did, my blood would spill. You could taste me.” In Will’s mind, Hannibal lifted his burning, beating heart from his broken chest and bit into it then kissed him with his mouth spilling red. “I would lick my blood from your lips,” Will sighed.

Manipulative boy, Hannibal thought, but a tremor ran through him anyway at Will’s words. Will saw it. He drew breath and opened his mouth to exploit the crack he’d opened in Hannibal’s armor, but Hannibal placed one finger across his lips before he could say anything else.

“Will,” Hannibal warned darkly, “that is enough. When we are safely away, then we will discuss these games of yours. That I can promise you.”

Will considered this then acquiesced reluctantly. He rested his lightly bound wrists back on the pillow.

Satisfied that Will was done provoking him for the moment, Hannibal spilled more oil over his fingers and began to work Will’s body open again, methodically, but with far less mercy. Hannibal breached him with one finger and stroked inside insistently until Will relaxed. There was pain as Hannibal pressed a second thick, slicked finger inside, but not much, and Hannibal pointedly ignored Will’s reflexive fretting.

With his other hand, Hannibal caressed Will’s sides, his thighs, his cock. Coaxing him like a wild thing. From time to time, he bent forward between Will’s spread legs to kiss the delicate skin on the inside of his knees.

Eventually Will went still under Hannibal’s deft hands, simply letting Hannibal touch him. His head was cocked to the side, eyes half-lidded. He seemed to be listening to something far away.

“Will?” Hannibal asked curiously. “What do you feel?”

“You,” Will replied distantly. “You're… _inside_ me.  It's good… having you in me. I think it feels good too, but it's so strange.”

“Have you never...” Hannibal began.

“No,” Will finished. “Never.” He flashed back briefly to Hannibal’s blade sliding into his belly. Hannibal’s bloody hand cupping the back of his neck, holding him so intimately as his life cascaded onto the kitchen floor. “Never like this.”

Hannibal watched Will avidly as he pushed his fingers deeper, curled them up, feeling for Will’s prostate. Will looked up at him as he made contact, eyes wide and skittish.

“Oh,” he gasped, overwhelmed with a deep, unprecedented pleasure. "That's..."

Hannibal smiled, absorbing the emotion flooding Will’s face. There you are, he thought. “Better?”

“Oh it's good,” Will moaned, eyes drifting closed. “Can you? A little more?”

Hannibal nodded and rubbed rhythmically over Will’s prostate with one hand, stroked his cock with the other. Will’s eyes startled open then squeezed shut tight.

“Like this?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah, just like that,” Will said, lifting to meet Hannibal’s fingers.

“Good, Will,” Hannibal praised him. “That’s good. Take what you need.”

Hannibal’s insistence that Will take from him what he needs was intoxicating and he fell to it gladly, working himself wantonly on Hannibal’s fingers.

When he had reduced Will to continuous, insensible moaning and he seemed sufficiently desperate, Hannibal withdrew his fingers carefully. Will opened his eyes and caught Hannibal’s observing him. Hannibal pushed Will’s left leg back further with one hand and pressed the head of his cock firmly against Will’s opening with the other.

“Now?” Will asked.

“Now,” Hannibal agreed.

Will smiled slanted and Hannibal leaned down to kiss him, tongue sliding sweetly into his mouth. Will could feel Hannibal’s leaking cock pressed hard against the rim of his slicked opening. He squeezed Hannibal’s strong thighs between his legs and shifted his hips up in welcome.

Hannibal drew back to watch Will’s face as he pushed inside. Slowly and steadily he opened Will’s body; not as he had planned to do after the Uffizi, with a final, fatal intimacy, but only with this sweet, repeatable invasion. Offering only the temporary oblivion of the little death.  
  
Hannibal rested his forehead against Will’s as he thrust in a little deeper. Will’s muscles clenched around him involuntarily and Hannibal stilled. He brushed his mouth back and forth over Will’s throat tracking the hummingbird rush of his blood. “Easy, Will,” he said. “Easy.”

“I’m ok, Hannibal,” Will moaned. “It’s… I’m ok. Please don’t stop.” Will wrapped his legs tentatively around Hannibal’s waist. He brought his crossed wrists over Hannibal’s head and pulled him closer, ignoring the protest from his wounded shoulder, his bruised ribs.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal said with a helpless groan. “How I’ve wanted you.”

Hannibal penetrated him by slow and careful degrees and Will felt his body opening inexorably under the pressure. Overwhelmed, he free associated a kaleidoscope of lovers shifting and transforming, last into first: a senior girl at Strong Vincent High, beautiful bored Julie, who bet her friends ten bucks she could make it with the quiet new boy before Homecoming. He recalled holding himself over her in the back of her father’s Mercedes, remembered her exquisite expression of ecstatic yielding as he pushed into her for the first time. He felt short-sighted suddenly, having never asked anyone to do it to him.

Hannibal’s voice broke through his reverie. “Should I be offended at having lost your full attention, Will?” he teased, thrusting in hard to recapture Will’s thoughts.

Will laughed and rolled his hips in Julie’s favorite motion until he made Hannibal gasp and drop his gaze. “You have my full attention, Hannibal,” he panted. “I was only thinking…”

“Yes, I can see that,” Hannibal interrupted.

Will laughed again. “I was thinking of you. Oh, the feeling of you… inside me. How I… What I feel when you… oh, when you move in me like that. Vulnerable or…or powerful. I… .” Will stopped with a frustrated exhale. “Fuck, I wish I could explain better what this feels like.”

Hannibal gave Will an indulgent smile and brushed Will’s hair back from his forehead tenderly. Will looked at him closely, searching his face.

“When did you first let someone have you this way, Hannibal? You must have. Fuck, it feels so good and you never deny yourself anything that feels good do you?”

Hannibal thrust himself deep in response and groaned. “That’s true. I generally don’t. Why don’t you tell me, Will? Can you see it?”

As Hannibal held him, thrusting shallowly, Will closed his eyes and dissolved into Hannibal’s past like slipping into a pool of black water.

“After the orphanage,” Will said confidently. “At boarding school in Paris. An older boy? … No. A tutor of some kind.” He paused, seeing Hannibal's hands on the harpsicord, head tipped back in passion, a background of blooming sheet music. “A music tutor,” he concluded. “Not much older, but old enough to have the experience you were looking for.” He stopped, head thrown back, throat tense. “Fuck, Hannibal,” he whimpered. “That’s so good.”

“Keep going, Will,” Hannibal said, fascinated. He plunged deep and held there, kissing Will’s neck. “Tell me,” he whispered in his ear. “What else do you see?”

Will panted and kept time with Hannibal’s rhythm as well as he could, caught halfway between his past and their present. “You pushed him,” Will said, his dreaming voice twining around Hannibal’s memories like smoke. “No. That's not quite right is it? You _seduced_ him. He thought it was his idea, but it was yours….God, Hannibal, do that again…Oh…Yes... He…he had you over the piano the first time. In an empty music room.”

Hannibal looked up, astonished, his rhythm faltering. “Amazing,” he said.

Will looked at him slyly. “That last bit was mostly a guess. How much did I get right?”

Hannibal’s eyes were wide. It was a rare and indescribable sensation, being the object of Will’s uncomfortable gift. “Nearly all,” Hannibal said.  “He did have me over the piano. Several times in fact. Although, not the first time. The first time was in his bed, in the attic above his family’s music salon.”

Hannibal walked through the wavering image of a Spring day nearly thirty years gone. He saw himself at sixteen, all scrawny arms and coltish legs; his tutor at twenty, privileged and pretty. “The attic bedroom was spare. Unremarkable except for three huge windows set into the roofline over the bed. On a clear night, you could see all of Paris. He liked to have me there when it was raining. He said the shadows cast on my body by the rain coursing down the windows made me look like a wild thing, un petit sauvage.”

Will chuckled and pulled Hannibal closer. “You are a little savage,” he said, nipping at Hannibal’s throat.

Hannibal growled deep in his chest just to hear Will laugh again then shook his head and wrapped his arms under Will’s back, pinning him deliciously under his weight. “Thank you, Will,” he said, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“For what?”

“For seeing.”

Hannibal kissed Will’s forehead, his stubbled cheeks, his soft, yielding mouth. He rocked into Will steadily, murmuring endearments in his ear. Hannibal’s words were too soft or too foreign for Will to understand, yet he felt warmed by them nonetheless. Cherished, like something of great and terrible value.

Will turned his head from side to side restlessly, kissing Hannibal’s wrists, biting at them. He felt Hannibal’s big, warm body all around him. Holding him. Cradling him. Protective. Safe. His breathing became erratic and he lifted his hips shamelessly to rub his aching cock against Hannibal’s stomach, but it wasn’t enough. Before Will could ask Hannibal to untie him so he could touch himself, Hannibal gently pulled his silk wrapped wrists over his head and laid them back on the pillow. He sat back on his heels so he could stroke Will’s cock in time with the rhythm of his hips.

Will threw his head back. “Yes. Perfect.”

Hannibal slid his hand under Will’s left leg and coaxed it up over his hip. Will gasped at the feeling of Hannibal pressing into him at this new angle.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Hannibal asked smugly.

“Oh. More than good,” Will breathed. He hooked his leg more solidly around Hannibal’s body for leverage and worked himself onto Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal shuddered and dropped his head. “Beautiful Will,” he moaned with abandon.

Pressure built at the base of Will’s spine as Hannibal rode him hard. His vision began to go white at the edges. He squeezed Hannibal with his thighs, bucking and thrashing under him. He felt as though he had been hovering on the edge of this orgasm for hours.

Hannibal was so close. He pressed up and in and held his cock against that perfect spot inside, rocking his hips, stroking Will’s cock, pushing him towards the edge. “Let go, Will.” he encouraged through gritted teeth. "Let go and come for me, beautiful boy."

Will twisted his body desperately, caught at the trembling edge of too much. “Fuck me harder, then,” he begged, his faded Southern accent turning his pleas to music. “Do it. Make me come.”

Hannibal strained forward, all bared teeth and corded muscle, bracing one hand on Will’s chest. He folded Will’s thighs back, moving their bodies relentlessly, heedless of their injuries. Will turned his head and stifled his cries against the pillow. The sun bloomed in Will’s belly as Hannibal drove into him mercilessly. He was Icarus falling, his back bent like a bow drawn tight. In a rush of nearly excruciating ecstasy, Will came over Hannibal's hand, marking him with his release and sobbing with pleasure. 

Will's body was wracked with almost unbearable aftershocks. He struggled to catch his breath as his body clenched and released around Hannibal’s throbbing cock. The tide of Will’s orgasm pulled Hannibal along like a river in runoff and he came quaking helplessly and murmuring Will’s name over, and over, and over like a prayer.

Hannibal gathered Will up in his arms, pressed his lips to Will’s throat over his hammering pulse, and sighed, salt water welling in his eyes. “Mine,” Hannibal said, with weary satisfaction. “You're mine.”

Will looked up at him with his clear blue eyes. Finally awake. He lifted his bound hands between their bodies and brushed the backs of his fingers over Hannibal’s wet cheek in dismay and realized, far too late, that he was utterly lost.


End file.
